


Victory

by kandlelite



Category: Crimes of Grindelwald - Fandom, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Pact, Bottom Albus Dumbledore, Emotional Manipulation, Gay Sex, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Gellert Grindelwald, Oblivious Albus Dumbledore, Seer, Top Gellert Grindelwald, Victory, Vision - Freeform, Young Albus Dumbledore, Young Gellert Grindelwald, dream - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 14:09:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16703923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kandlelite/pseuds/kandlelite
Summary: From the very beginning, victory had chosen sides.





	Victory

From the very beginning, victory had chosen sides. 

Gellert's hand combed through thick copper hair, pushing it out of the way. He watched as eyelids fluttered, and the breathes shifted into deeper, wakening ones. Blue eyes came to focus on his and Gellert let the smile rise to his face. "Good morning." 

"Mmm…" Albus groaned and pulled the blanket around his head a little higher. "Not yet." 

Pulling away the blanket, Gellert bowed his head low to press his lips against Albus' ear, whispering in a low rumble, "Are you sure?" His other hand snaked low beneath the blanket, wrapping around the soft flesh. A breath caught in Albus' chest, and when he pulled away, Albus had a pout, and two blue eyes boring down on him. 

In a flash, he was pushed down onto his side of the narrow bed, straddled by Albus' tightly muscled thighs, and a hand against his chest. "That wasn't fair." 

"Of course not." He murmured, as he gripped Albus firmly on both cheeks and spread him. They had spent the larger part of the late night hours in bed, only having stopped a few hours ago. He slid in without warning, earning him a gasp and a wide view of Albus' exposed neck. He let go and the weight did the rest, burying his cock inside Albus' warm body. The shudder ran through them both, as he sat up, mouthing Albus' neck with lips and teeth. Between his nips and licks, he purred, "When do I ever play fair?" 

Albus made a noise that fit somewhere between a moan and frustration, probably attempting to form a witty retort, but Gellert was faster. He gripped Albus' hips and lifted his weight up, feeling the friction of the pull run straight through his abdomen like wildfire. As his teeth sunk into Albus' neck, he pulled Albus down, hips snapping forward. The combination had a cry tearing from Albus' throat, and hands clutching his shoulder and tugging at his hair. He growled in his throat, as he repeated the motion. 

The hand in his hair clenched tighter, edging on painful, but laced with a pleasant feeling of urgency. Albus' vocalization ranged from wordless noises to soft Yes's, spilled out as he flipped their positions with a sweep of his leg and twist of their bodies. The slow thrusts churned into rougher shoves as the bed frame slammed against the wall, drumming out the rhythm of their bodies. 

Nails dug into his back and Gellert lifted his head enough to see the look in Albus' face. His eyes were shut, mouth parted wide, moans filling the space around them. Gellert grabbed Albus' chin and drew him into a kiss. Albus moaned into it, as Gellert sped up, pushing them both to their limits. 

When they climaxed, the air around them spiraled with released magic that sent their notes and papers fluttering. Albus planted kisses on his face and neck as he let out slow, long breathes. When he opened his eyes, Albus was there, pushing away his hair from his face, "Good morning," came the greeting at last. 

Gellert stared down at him. He'd always liked Albus' eyes. They were blue, like small polished marbles inlaid with cracked tendrils of ice and spring water. They reminded him of the mountains, so vast and pure, untouched by Muggles and Wizards alike, and in the middle of it all, a vast dark pit, in which he fell each time he gazed down. "I had a dream."

Albus' hand stilled in his hair, and his brows knitted. "Tell me." He said. 

He told Albus all his dreams. At first it was to help him log the details, to memorialize it in recounted tales and words, which always seemed to put permanence to the will-o-wisp visions. Then it was because Albus listened, like all the others hadn't. He believed when Gellert had told him some of them came true. He believed when Gellert had told him how he came to Godric's Hollow because of a vision. He believe in his words. His dreams. 

But this time, it was different. 

The dream had been different than the others.

"I'll tell you after we eat something. _Tergeo_." He said with a twist of his hand, cleaning both their bodies with a flick. 

He picked up the loose pieces of paper that had scattered around. They were their notes, their handwriting merging and intertwining with each others as they scribbled comments around and on top of each other's. Some in agreeance, others in respectable counter arguments. He placed them on the stack of tomes older than both of them combined. Thankfully, Albus hadn't asked how he'd gotten them, nor questioned him when he appeared with more in stow. 

He slid his hands down the long tower of books to one he'd stolen out of Durmstrang. He waved his wand and the book untucked itself from the stack, neatly opening to a page he'd dogeared some weeks ago. His fingers traced the moving ink, a swirling mass of black within an ornate vial, spinning slowly on the page. 

By the time he'd dressed, Albus was frying eggs and toasting the bread, while he read Gellert's worn copy of the Tales of Beedle the Bard, flipping through the pages, sipping his cup of tea, already dressed and ready for another day. If it weren't for his constant dreams and insomnia, Albus would have probably been the morning riser, and he the lazing cat, sleeping through the morning into the afternoon. 

The bread and eggs floated towards him, neatly piling onto a chipped plate, with a fork following close after. He didn't sit at the table, nor did he approach Albus. He simply watched the easy way that Albus controlled his magic, his wand tucked away into his waistcoat pocket. Between the two of them, in a fight, it would not be immediately clear who would be the victor.

He knew his talents, had become aware of his abilities early on, but Albus' powers had to be coaxed. He had seen glimmers of it, like now, or in moments when Albus was in a playful mood and wanted to spar. Even then, they had only shown each other a small portion of their abilities or tricks. It was the same with intellect. If left unchecked, they would likely weave themselves into a tapestry of riddles and clever quips. 

"Albus." 

Albus turned to him, book still floating in the air. "Gellert, what is it?" 

"I…"

The silence he created drew Albus to him, eyes wide with concern. "Gellert? Are you alright?" When Albus was in arm's reach, he pulled him into an embrace, holding the back of his head with his hand, and the other wrapped around the slender waist. Behind Albus, the tea cup tipped over as the book fell, catching it by the edge, flipping the remainder of its contents onto the strewn pages, but Albus didn't try to fix it, "I don't want to hurt you." 

Albus pulled away from him, and thumbed the cheek under his pale eye. "You haven't." 

He enclosed a hand around the wrist closest to his face and leaned into the warmth, pressing Albus' palm flat against the plane of his cheekbone. "I'm not like you." 

Albus' thumb stroked his cheek slowly, "I know, but I know you wouldn't." 

He tore away from Albus, stepping back, letting a tremor pass through his hand. "But how can you know for sure?" 

Albus lowered his arms and a look of pain crossed his face, twisting his brows together. "Is this because of the dream?" 

He did not say, but he did not need to. Albus could make his own conclusions. He turned his head, letting his hair drape over his face, just enough that he could still see Albus from the corner of his gaze. Albus approached him again, this time slower, his hands outstretched to both sides, palms facing out. "You wouldn't hurt me." 

When the hands pressed against the sides of his face, pulling his gaze towards Albus. Had he never met Albus, he would have never understood the mechanism by which love acted. How easy it was to manipulate. That convenient shroud it granted, to act within the safety of blind eyes. With whispered words, he said, "Make a blood pact with me. So that neither of us can harm each other, no matter what."

He knew Albus' answer even before Albus closed the space between them and kissed him, sweetly and slowly, sealing a promise he willingly gave without question. 

The pact they created was both delicate and sturdy. The centerpiece intricate with fleur-de-lis and struck through with a stake, balancing the graceful curves of the silver motifs. He held it in his hands, as Albus slept, watching as the blood swirled around and around. 

He pulled it around his neck, satisfaction licking around his chest at his cleverly wrought reward. The weight of the chain quelled the anxiety that had knotted in him since his dream had woken him in a cold sweat, only an hour after he'd fallen asleep. 

He could still feel it, the press of his own wand point against his jugular, having traded loyalties. He had looked from wand to the person holding it. The only person it could have been--Albus Dumbledore, holding the Elder wand, with bloody sweat sliding down his forehead, and a fury in his eyes as he screamed with rage, soundlessly at his deaf ears. 

He clasped the pendant with a fist. 

He would not let victory choose the other side so easily.


End file.
